One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed

into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his
brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to
cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment.

His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he
looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human room
although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls.

A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - and above
it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice,
gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur
muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.

Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard hitting the
pane, which made him feel quite sad. "How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this
nonsense", he thought, but that was something he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on
his right, and in his present state couldn't get into that position.

However hard he threw himself onto his right, he always rolled back to where he was. He must have
tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at the floundering legs, and only
stopped when he began to feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt before. "Oh, God", he
thought, "what a strenuous career it is that I've chosen! Travelling day in and day out.

Doing business like this takes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of
that there's the curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food,
contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know anyone or become friendly
with them. It can all go to Hell!

" He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards the headboard so
that he could lift his head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little
white spots which he didn't know what to make of; and when he tried to feel the place with one of his
legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder. He
slid back into his former position.

"Getting up early all the time", he thought, "it makes you stupid. You've got to get enough sleep. Other
travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go back to the guest house during the
morning to copy out the contract, these gentlemen are always still sitting there eating their breakfasts. I
ought to just try that with my boss; I'd get kicked out on the spot. But who knows, maybe that would be
the best thing for me.

If I didn't have my parents to think about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have gone up to
the boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what I feel. He'd
fall right off his desk! And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up there at your desk, talking down at
your subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go right up close because the boss is hard
of hearing.

Well, there's still some hope; once I've got the money together to pay off my parents' debt to him -
another five or six years I suppose - that's definitely what I'll do. That's when I'll make the big change.
First of all though, I've got to get up, my train leaves at five. " And he looked over at the alarm clock,
ticking on the chest of drawers. "God in Heaven! " he thought. It was half past six and the hands were
quietly moving forwards, it was even later than half past, more like quarter to seven. Had the alarm
clock not rung? He could see from the bed that it had been set for four o'clock as it should have been; it
certainly must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep through that furniture-rattling noise?
True, he had